


A Helping Hand

by Trecriture



Series: Cloak and Dagger [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1945833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trecriture/pseuds/Trecriture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He mutters a bitter curse, then resignedly begins following the path the Red Guards took. So many sights he still wants to see - old Jacques's mill; the bridge over the stream leading to the woods he and his friends played in as little boys; Ragot's tavern, which offers food and drink a thousand times better than those in Paris...</p><p>But that will have to wait for another time, he thinks as he hears shouts and the clang of swords coming from the building two street corners ahead and races toward the source of the disturbance, hand already steadying the hilt of his sword as he runs."</p><p>d'Artagnan is roaming the streets of his childhood home when a situation comes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to fairedragon and nikonian over at ff.net for inspiring the different turn in the story. 
> 
> Note: d'Artagnan may seem OOC in this chapter. It will be explained later. :)

His hometown is not as he remembers it.

Oh, the land is still beautiful, the weather still fair - but the people, the people! He shakes his head slowly as he strolls through the marketplace. It used to be that all manner of children would play in the streets, even after dark; and the villagers would welcome even strangers into their homes for a brief overnight stay, in order to hear tales of what lay beyond the fields and herds of Lupiac; and the adults walked leisurely around, the women gossiping quickly and the men laughing heartily - in short, he remembers the  _community_  that was envied in all the rest of Gascony.

Not anymore.

Now, the children remain silent and still, no sign of life to be seen, and always, always press close to their mothers' skirts; the homes' windows are shuttered and ominous in appearance, warning all except those residing there to keep out and stay away; and the market is near destitute of buyers, and even those brave enough to venture out walk rapidly, heads down, without exchanging a word to their neighbors as they pass. The only signs of life are the quiet murmurs of those requesting items and the slight jingle of coins as payment is exchanged for goods.

Then a quartet of Red Guards walk determinedly down the road and take the turn leading back toward the city entrance, and d'Artagnan does not miss how the villagers shrink away from them, hissing and muttering but never confronting or raising their voices above a whisper.

He frowns. What could the Red Guards possibly have to do here?

Then he remembers, and his jaw clenches. Tréville was right - the Cardinal will have wanted to retain his influence in this region, not willing to relinquish it even after LaBarge's forceful arrest and subsequent killing. The power-hungry bastard has sent his bully boys here for that sole purpose, he is certain of it.

He mutters a bitter curse, then resignedly begins following the path the Red Guards took. So many sights he still wants to see - old Jacques's mill; the bridge over the stream leading to the woods he and his friends played in as little boys; Ragot's tavern, which offers food and drink a thousand times better than those in Paris...

But that will have to wait for another time, he thinks as he hears shouts and the clang of swords coming from the building two street corners ahead and races toward the source of the disturbance, hand already steadying the hilt of his sword as he runs.

* * *

 

Arnoux Marsanieux, recently-promoted Lieutenant in the Red Guards, thoroughly enjoys stalking through the streets of Lupiac and watching as its pathetic inhabitants cower in the face of his authority. He nods in satisfaction, smirking as the pitiful farmers and peasants shrink back toward the shadows of the buildings and noticeably away from him and his men. LaBarge did his work well. So well, he muses, that  _no one_ living in the region will dare to defy His Eminence ever again-

But for the young man standing determinedly in the middle of the road, blocking their way.

"Move, boy," Marsanieux says quietly but in a firm tone brooking no argument. "We have the Cardinal's business to attend to."

Normally, he would have already instructed one of his men to kick the obstacle (be it person or thing) out of the way, but doing such a thing against a youngster - armed though he is, a long sword strapped to his side - could well be all the instigation the locals need before they snap out of their wary quiescence and attack him and his men.

The atmosphere is certainly hostile enough by now.

"And what is this  _Cardinal's business_ , pray tell?" the boy demands sharply, hands curling into fists and his words and expression so venomous that Marsanieux actually takes a step back. "Your precious  _Cardinal_ is the one who appointed LaBarge, isn't that right? So is it not now his responsibility - since LaBarge is dead, thank God - to right his wrongs and help us out, seeing as more than half of all our lands have been burned?" He scowls. "Or would you prefer that His Majesty not receive the taxes he demands, seeing as the lot of us will  _die_  at this rate by year's end?"

"You insolent little-!" Marsanieux snarls, leaping forward. Their swords meet in a jarring  _clang_ , the force of which causes the lower half of his right arm to go numb.

Marsanieux gapes at the blades, his arm, and then turns his incredulous gaze on the boy, who stands there naturally, easily.  _This boy is no amateur,_  he thinks nervously.

The boy smirks. "Is that the best you've got,  _Red Scum?_ "

With a howl of rage, Marsanieux lunges for him again, but the boy easily sidesteps the wild stab before striking in his own turn: a thrust, then a side cut that the Lieutenant clumsily parries before half-turning to shout, "Well don't just  _stand_  there, you idiots! Fight!"

Startled at the shout, his three men stumble forward awkwardly while Marsanieux hurriedly steps back, out of the reach of that terrifying sword.

The young man swallows, throat suddenly dry, then squares his shoulders, a razor-sharp focus entering his eyes. He just barely dodges the wide sweep of the first crony, then desperately brings his blade up to prevent the second and third soldiers from breaking through his guard. It's two against one, though, and he grits his teeth as he feels himself sliding backward. He tries to push against them, but he's outnumbered and hasn't been eating much so he knows he's lost muscle-

As a third sword forcefully adds itself to the two already striving to push him back into a corner, he stumbles backwards, stumbles into the firm timber wall of one of the taverns, and his concentration breaks for just a moment...

And then the four men are upon him, and he's forced harshly back against the wall, three swords at his throat while the fourth neatly disarms him in one contemptuous gesture, then all four swords raise in unison and he closes his eyes in preparation-

"My, my, what's this? Four against one?" Someone clucks in disapproval. "And you dare to claim you uphold the code of honor."

The boy watches in confusion, straining his neck to try to see the newcomer who has made all four men pale and the arrogant ringleader of these Red Scum tremble.

"Be on your way, Musketeer. This matter does not concern you," Marsanieux says, drawing himself up to his full height in a pathetic attempt to seem authoritative.

The musketeer's lips turn up in what appears to be the smile a wolf might give its prey right before it goes in for the kill. "Ah, but doesn't it, monsieur? After all, I cannot claim to be worthy of this-" he gestures to the fleur-de-lis on his right shoulder - "if I ignore the four of you attacking an unarmed young man! I seem to recall that we are supposed to, 'when outnumbering the enemy, duel one-on-one in turns so as not to besmirch the honor of your patron'? Is that not right, gentlemen?"

The boy blinks. Somehow the musketeer, while speaking, has drawn within ten paces of the lead Red Guard. With that thought, he realizes that his four assailants are distracted by the appearance of the new man, and so slowly, carefully inches toward where his sword was flung earlier.

Marsanieux bristles at the musketeer's condescending tone. "You have effectively challenged us! And in case you have forgotten, Musketeer, you yourself commented that it is four against one!"

Incredibly, the man shrugs and smiles beatifically. "So get two more men and then it'll be an even fight,  _seigneur_." Suddenly, his expression darkens, all traces of good humor wiped off his face and his eyes now blazing. "Now  _en garde_ , you great big brutes!"

With that, he leaps forward and begins a whirlwind of blows - forehands, backhands, thrusts, side and overhead cuts - his speed so blistering that Marsanieux is driven back into his own men. And then a commotion arises there as the boy, who has finally managed to retrieve his sword, joins the fight as well.

D'Artagnan merely brings the hilt of his sword crashing down upon the heads of the men until the tip of his blade reaches Marsanieux's throat. Panting heavily to the left of him, the boy copies his actions.

The Lieutenant looks at where his three men lay strewn about the road in front of him, then switches his gaze frantically between d'Artagnan and the boy, seeing not an iota of pity in either of their expressions. As the musketeer leans forward menacingly, Marsanieux cringes and tries to cower only to find his back against a hard, uncompromising wall.

"Please," he whimpers pathetically. "Don't kill me."

Boy and musketeer exchange disgusted glances, the boy's mouth set in a grim line, the musketeer's eyebrow raised. The musketeer opens his mouth, then-

"D'Artagnan!"

Three older men, all donning blue cloaks, black hats, and the same fleur-de-lis insignia his savior is, rush down the street and skid to a stop near them.

The one in front sighs. "D'Artagnan," he says solemnly, almost sounding like a father admonishing his unruly son.

A muscle works in his savior's jaw, but he eventually exhales, sheathes his sword (the boy slowly follows his example), then none-too-gently heaves the Red Guard up and shoves him so he lands in a heap at the newcomers' feet.

"Filthy piece of scum," his savior - right, d'Artagnan is his name - near snarls, spitting at the leader of the three other Red Guards. The dark-skinned musketeer instantly moves to stand in between him and the pathetic Red Guard, while the curly-haired one gently leads d'Artagnan closer to their own leader.

"What did he do?" The leader's voice sounds somewhat weary, resigned almost, as if this happens to him far too often.

" _He_ -" d'Artagnan points with no small amount of disgust at Marsanieux - "had cornered and disarmed this young man-" he jerks a thumb toward the boy, who stands stiffly at attention as the other three musketeers' gazes focus on him - "and was about to kill him even as they outnumbered the poor lad four to one.  _Four_  to  _one_ , Athos!"

His savior turns a murderous glare on the now-cowering-again Red Guard and menacingly takes a few steps toward him. "You're lucky the boy had guts enough to stay and I feel there's been enough killing already, bastard. But I promise you: when our paths cross again-" and there's that same wolfish smile that doesn't reach his eyes by far - "I will not be so merciful. Now. Before I change my mind... GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he roars, sending the Lieutenant scuttling backwards in fear and shock.

Even d'Artagnan's three musketeer friends seem surprised at the severity of his bellow, the one named Athos holding him as he trembles, so great is his anger.

"Um... Monsieur d'Artagnan?" the boy asks hesitantly, stepping toward him. The musketeer's intense gaze swivels away from the fleeing Red Guard and onto him. Swallowing, the boy says, "Thank you, sir, for your unnecessary kindness. I will always be in your debt, but... If there's something I can do to repay you at all...?"

D'Artagnan meets the gazes of the three other Musketeers, as if silently asking a question, then turns back toward the boy and sighs. "I don't suppose you would know a good place to stay for the night?"

But to his surprise, the boy smiles. "Follow me."

**Author's Note:**

> So there we have it! You'll find out more about the boy and get some more insight into why d'Artagnan is acting OOC in the next chapter. Though I will say, he did just visit the graves of his three deceased family members and was moody about the negative changes in Lupiac of Gascony.
> 
> I have no idea what the code of honor says when d'Artagnan is quoting his spiel about not attacking the enemy when you outnumber them. I just thought it sounded nice. XD
> 
> Virtual cookies to anyone who can tell me the movie reference! From now on updates will be rather sporadic as I'm leaving for camp tomorrow and right after I get back school starts again.
> 
> Thank you for reading (haha are you still reading this A/N? Kudos!)-please let me know how I did!


End file.
